


Brandon Stark/Brand Wildwolf

by TheLadyMuse



Series: His to Honour [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Complete, F/M, R plus L equals J, Starks live, plenty of drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyMuse/pseuds/TheLadyMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How the Game changed when Rickard was alive to claim Jon, and Brandon had direct ties to a Northern House.</p><p>A/N: Before I actually start the story, I need to clear up a couple things. Brandon Stark really did not want to marry Catelyn because A) he was in love with someone else, and they had been lovers for years before ASOIAF and my AU, and B) He knew Ned was infatuated with Catelyn. Amarantha Stormheart of Stonehome is from a Northern clan whose history and bloodline will be explained in a later installment involving Jon and Theon. If you desperately require an explanation, pm me and I will send you a concise summary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wild Wolf and the She-Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changed some formatting. ORIGINAL CHARACTERS (because some people don't read the damn tags).

**  
** Brandon Stark knew he should be thoroughly ashamed that he was betrothed to one woman, and making love to another. He just did not have it in him to be ashamed of loving Amarantha Stormheart, fifth of her name. She challenged him where Lady Catelyn Tully would have meekly lowered her eyes and spoken meaningless courtesies. He couldn’t fathom what his younger brother Ned saw in her.

He, Brandon Stark of Winterfell, also called the Wild Wolf, descended of the First Men and the Kings of Winter, did not bend, nor did he break.  

No matter how much he hated this betrothal, the only way out was to admit he did not care for Lady Catelyn. It would be quite sticky, considering he had already defeated one opponent for Catelyn’s hand. That didn’t matter, though. His father and their family needed this alliance, and Ned was not enough of a prize. His bitter seething roused a sated Amarantha.

“Brandon, what’s got you thinking so hard?” Her soft question, asked with honesty, stated plainly, soothed him-somewhat.

“Oh Mara, I’m just angry that I have to marry Catelyn! What does she know of me?” Pulling him into a kiss that set his mind on fire, she whispered

“Stop thinking, Brand. We have tonight, and that will have to be enough.”

The next morning, as he ate his fill at the Stormheart table, he endured the sad gazes of Amarantha’s family. Still frankly amazed her father and brothers had yet to try to skewer him for despoiling her, her turned his attention to her.

“Amarantha, will you come to Winterfell?” His quiet question is met with a firm shake of her head, and her eyes met his.

“No, Lord Stark. If you call the banners, I will come, of course, but I have no business in Winterfell.” Brandon felt his desperation choke him, then an idea came to mind, but Lord Dayan Stormheart shook his head.

“Leave my girl be, Brandon, she has a hard road ahead of her, no need to make it harder.” No matter how sensible he sounded, Brandon wanted to scream and rage. That damned betrothal had been his father’s bid for allies, and now it ruled his life, and worse, Mara was abiding by it, now that Hoster Tully had announced he would make it official.

Angrier than he’d ever been, he tacked up his warhorse, Balerion, and rode out before the noon meal. Brandon took the most circuitous route home. No, he told himself, home is with Amarantha. Try as he might, he still could not come to grips with losing her.

Four days later, a cantankerous Brandon Stark stormed into the Winterfell courtyard atop his destrier. He noticed the Riverlanders camped out and his ire grew. Brandon marched to the Great Hall, and thrusting open the doors snarled

“What in the name of the North Gods is going on?” Rickard, his father, his brothers, Ned and Ben, Hoster Tully and his brother Brynden, as well as fucking Catelyn stared at him in surprise. Lyanna wasn’t here. His heart sank, thinking  No, no, no, not Lyanna.

Robert Baratheon watched silently, a goblet in hand and Howland Reed, a friend of Ned’s that Lyanna had defended at Harrenhall, spoke.

“Lord Brandon. Your sister Lyanna has been abducted by Rhaegar Targaryen.” Brandon walked down the hall in swift strides, and in front of everyone, his brothers, the betrothed he’d never wanted, her father, uncle and the combined men at arms and the Stark servants, he punched his father, and roared

“This is your fucking fault! You tried to marry her to that gods damned Baratheon, and she ran to the arms of Targaryen you bloody numbskull fool.” _Just like you did to me_ , Brandon’s eyes tell him try to deny it, the flinty Stark grey dares Rickard. Turning on his heel, he said curtly to Hoster

“The wedding will have to wait, we have banners to call, and Lyanna to bring back to Winterfell, if she so desires.” The unwavering ice in his voice silences everyone in the hall, and he snaps at his father

“The only way you’ll get me to bring her back here is if you promise not to force another marriage, or even this one-” he jerked his thumb at Robert “-if you renege that promise, I will personally slit the throats of all involved for costing me my sister, and you will be first.”

Rickard watched his son leave, utterly speechless. The hatred in his eyes when he’d talked of the betrothals had chilled him to the bone. In trying to arrange allies, he just might have lost his son.

“Excuse me.” He says quietly, trailing Brandon. When he finds his son, he is cleaning the Valyrian steel longsword that had been a gift from Dayan Stormheart when he was younger.

“You will come to love her.” Rickard offers, and is as stunned as he was in the Great Hall when Brandon snarls

“You do not know what I would do to be free of her! She means less to me than a dent in my armour. Thanks to the both of you, I lost Lyanna, and I lost the woman I would cut out my heart for. You know nothing of love, and less of hate.” Shoving past Rickard, Eddard and Benjen who had trailed their father, he came face to face with Hoster and Brynden Tully.

“Well? You obviously heard what I said.” Brandon’s sharp, knifelike voice about breaks Rickard, as Hoster asks evenly

“Why?” Brandon laughed, a low, bitter thing.

“Because I have a duty to Winterfell, because no matter how it makes my heart shatter over and over and _over_ again, she won’t let me compromise my honour.”

Brandon walks away, to come face to face with the bannermen not two days later. Rickard, Hoster and Brynden observe the stiff correctness in Amarantha’s posture. She and her younger sister Rhaena were sent to command the Stormheart delegation. It saddens Hoster, that the man betrothed to his daughter will not feel affection for her, but Catelyn knew it could happen, that she most likely would not have Brandon’s favour. Hoster knew she would never have it, after seeing the care Brandon took with Lady Stormheart, but had no wish to break her heart just yet. Brandon himself had acknowledged the possibility of his death when he suggested Eddard and Benjen stay behind, as Winterfell must always have a Stark. Rickard had assented, uneasy at the glares Robert Baratheon was giving him.

Rickard had sworn that when she returned to Winterfell, Lyanna would have the choice of marrying, and he had publically dissolved her betrothal. Brandon’s eyes had been stormy since Rickard had refused to dissolve a marriage Catelyn was willing to enter. No, it wasn’t fair, but it was the way it had to be, and Rickard would bear his son’s hatred if it got him allies.

Catelyn was puzzled. Brandon had always been polite to her, but he’d been cursing everyone under the sun since he’d returned from a moon with the Stormhearts. Amarantha and Rhaena, despite carrying weapons, acted like ladies almost all the time. They practiced with the Mormont women, they ate and drank with the men, but they also embroidered beautifully. What puzzled her most was that Brandon didn’t curse them. She’d heard Amarantha call him Brand, and he call her Mara. Rhaena, too, used these names, but not as frequently as the other two. When she tried to farewell Brandon the morning he left, he glared at her and swung up onto Balerion, kicking him into a gallop out of the gate. Mara and Rhaena rode palfreys by her before she could make sense of Brandon. It stung, she admitted to herself, but surely Brandon would be better when he returned? Catelyn had always hoped her betrothed would at least like her, but it seemed impossible, when the only women he was affectionate with were Lyanna and the Stormheart ladies.


	2. The Polecats save the Direwolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title says it all

Brandon was going to die and it was his fault. Rickard Stark knew like he knew he himself would either precede or follow his son. Turning to him, grateful Aerys had left them to eat, he whispered

“My son, I should not have done it, to you or your sister.” Brandon, who had been attacking his bonds, froze.

“Mara didn’t want to shame me, which is why we kept it secret, hidden. If we hadn’t . . .” His thought trailed off and Rickard finished it. “I might not have forced the betrothal to Catelyn.” He could honestly say he did not blame his son for Brandon’s hatred. How could he? Brandon had only been doing his duty and hating it.

“I might not have forced the betrothal to Catelyn.” He could honestly say he did not blame his son for Brandon’s hatred. How could he? Brandon had only been doing his duty and hating it.

If he, Rickard Stark had left well enough alone, Lyanna would still be overjoyed to spar with her brothers, Brandon would have married the woman he so clearly adored, Ned might have wed Catelyn, but he hadn’t. At the time, the punch to his jaw by Brandon had hurt his flesh and his pride, but his son’s words and gaze had cut like ice. Brandon had laid the blame at his feet, and although he had acknowledged his feelings, he had not denied some of the blame was his too. If Brandon had spoken sooner, he might have been spared the betrothal. It was as well the young woman had refused to allow Brandon to sully his own honour . . . Rickards’ reverie was cut off by the doors opening, and squeezing his eyes shut he braced himself for Aerys’ madness. When he opened his eyes, he was met with a silver violet gaze that wasn’t that of the mad king. Brandon’s wheezed “M-Mara, R-Rhaena-” was cut off by a woman’s “Hush, Direwolf, the polecats are here.”

“M-Mara, R-Rhaena-” was cut off by a woman’s “Hush, Direwolf, the polecats are here.”

“Hush, Direwolf, the polecats are here.”Dazedly, Rickard recalled how Dayan had explained the Stormhearts’ hunter green field with the crouching violet-eyed silver polecat was so much a picture of their people that they called themselves polecats, and their family ‘the Pride’ of Westeros.

Dazedly, Rickard recalled how Dayan had explained the Stormhearts’ hunter green field with the crouching violet-eyed silver polecat was so much a picture of their people that they called themselves polecats, and their family ‘the Pride’ of Westeros.

Carefully, Amarantha freed them of their bonds while Rhaena stoked the fire hotter and hotter, then disappeared outside the door, returning to thrust a dead man who looked a bit like Brandon- same height and build, with lighter hair and darker eyes- into the fire. Amarantha tugged them to their feet as Rhaena returned with a second corpse, thrusting it, too, into the fire.

Quietly as possible, the Stark Lords were taken to a secret tunnel which came out near the moat, where a boat was moored. Silently, the women steered the skiff away from the Red Keep, and to a quiet meadow, where they were bid to rest, while Amarantha stood watch and Rhaena hunted. Brandon heaved his too thin frame onto the unpacked furs, content to sleep. Rickard, too, was soon overcome by exhaustion, and fell asleep.

At noon, Amarantha, who soon insisted on being called Mara, roused them for a planning session, and to feed them a thin soup. He was astonished by what the women had gathered since their capture. Lyanna had been hidden in the Tower of Joy, in Dorne, because the man she’d fallen in love with was Arthur Dayne, and Rhaegar had promised that he would release Ser Arthur from the Kingsguard in exchange for a child, sired by himself, gotten on Lyanna. In order to accomplish this, he had taken her as a second wife, and released Arthur once she was pregnant. Rickard was shocked, but resigned. Arthur would be better, far better, for Lyanna.

Once he and Brandon were able to sit up, he finally told the others the plan he’d concocted. Rhaegar wouldn’t have the child, and Lyanna and Brandon could live with those they’d chosen over his choices. If necessary, Rickard would raise his grandson as his own bastard then allow it to fall to Ned or Benjen.

Over two moons later, they came to the Tower of Joy, where they were received by the Kingsguard who served Rhaegar. Lyanna ordered them to be allowed in, after Arthur brought the news. Ser Arthur Dayne escorted Rickard, Brandon, Mara and Rhaena to Lyanna’s room.

So round with child she struggled to sit up, Lyanna greeted them with smiles. “Father, Brandon, my ladies Stormheart, what a pleasant surprise.” Rickard took in a breath and spoke before he lost his nerve. “I should not have tried to force Robert on you, Lyanna. As I should not have forced Catelyn on Brandon.” Sighing, he sat on the bed. “Now, I will try to right the wrongs I committed. When Ned comes looking for you, I will greet him, saying that Brandon died getting here, as did Ser Arthur in the ensuing fight. The lady Rhaena will return to her kin, but you, Ser Arthur, Brandon, Mara and the child will leave for Essos once it is born.”

“Father, Brandon, my ladies Stormheart, what a pleasant surprise.” Rickard took in a breath and spoke before he lost his nerve. “I should not have tried to force Robert on you, Lyanna. As I should not have forced Catelyn on Brandon.” Sighing, he sat on the bed. “Now, I will try to right the wrongs I committed. When Ned comes looking for you, I will greet him, saying that Brandon died getting here, as did Ser Arthur in the ensuing fight. The lady Rhaena will return to her kin, but you, Ser Arthur, Brandon, Mara and the child will leave for Essos once it is born.”

“I should not have tried to force Robert on you, Lyanna. As I should not have forced Catelyn on Brandon.” Sighing, he sat on the bed. “Now, I will try to right the wrongs I committed. When Ned comes looking for you, I will greet him, saying that Brandon died getting here, as did Ser Arthur in the ensuing fight. The lady Rhaena will return to her kin, but you, Ser Arthur, Brandon, Mara and the child will leave for Essos once it is born.”

“Now, I will try to right the wrongs I committed. When Ned comes looking for you, I will greet him, saying that Brandon died getting here, as did Ser Arthur in the ensuing fight. The lady Rhaena will return to her kin, but you, Ser Arthur, Brandon, Mara and the child will leave for Essos once it is born.” Lyanna gasped, and her father continued “If you wish to be free of Rhaegar’s

“If you wish to be free of Rhaegar’s get, I will raise him as my own bastard in Winterfell.” Lyanna opened her mouth and snapped it shut, gazing at a frowning Arthur. “Essos? Won’t the survivors look there?” Arthur clearly meant Robert would search for Lyanna and Rickard’s wolfish grin surfaced. “No, she died in childbed birthing my granddaughter and was burned on a pyre with yourself and my son.”

“Essos? Won’t the survivors look there?” Arthur clearly meant Robert would search for Lyanna and Rickard’s wolfish grin surfaced. “No, she died in childbed birthing my granddaughter and was burned on a pyre with yourself and my son.”

“No, she died in childbed birthing my granddaughter and was burned on a pyre with yourself and my son.”

Brandon was stunned. His father would lie for the rest of his life so he, Lyanna and their chosen spouses could live in peace? Lie to Ned, Benjen, Robert and all the Stark allies? Mara whistled. “That is a big responsibility, Lord Rickard. Are you sure you are up to it? Nodding his assent, Rickard sent for the remaining Kingsguard members to inform them of the plan. It was decided that the babe would go to Winterfell with Rickard, and the others would flee to Essos. It was decided the child would need a legitimate name, as Rhaegar had married Lyanna before getting the babe on her. Mara suggested the child take the surname

“That is a big responsibility, Lord Rickard. Are you sure you are up to it?" Nodding his assent, Rickard sent for the remaining Kingsguard members to inform them of the plan. It was decided that the babe would go to Winterfell with Rickard, and the others would flee to Essos. It was decided the child would need a legitimate name, as Rhaegar had married Lyanna before getting the babe on her. Mara suggested the child take the surname Stark Targaryen when time permitted, if ever. Rickard would inform his grandson of the truth either before he died or when the child was of an age to seek out their mother.

Which is why, a sennight after Ned Stark, husband of Catelyn, due to the disappearance and assumed death of Brandon, along with Howland Reed came on his father holding a child. Rickard flatly intoned his story, how Brandon, Lyanna and Ser Arthur Dayne died on the same day; Lyanna in childbed as Brandon and Dayne died in battle. All three had been burned on a pyre, and Rickard’s bastard son and his wet nurse had been brought here to wait out the war, The Stormhearts had disappeared, he thought to return to Stonehome.

Upon his return to the North, Rickard told Ned to remain as Lord of Winterfell, he would see to the raising of Jon Snow, whom he taught as diligently as he had taught his own sons. Weapons, warfare, history, caring for a horse, the hardships of the people. In exchange for the Stormhearts secrecy, they fostered Jon half a year, every year. Darek, the eldest child of Lord Dayan Stormheart, trained Jon alongside his own son, Dayan the younger.

Years later, at a bannermeet hosted by the Stormhearts, Dayan the Elder and Rickard discussed the likelihood of Jon Snow marrying Amarantha Stormheart, sixth of her name in front of everyone. Darek asked Theon Greyjoy, who had been fostering with them for the same six moons as Jon, when he planned on wedding Valyria, his daughter.

Robb was hurt that his bastard uncle would marry the girl he’d hoped to wed. Rickard had thrown a fit when Catelyn suggested marrying Robb to ‘the nice young lady Stormheart’. He shivered, recalling his grandfather’s words.

“No. Absolutely not.” Catelyn had protested, and Rickard had roared so loud, even his lady mother cowered.

“I lost my daughter because I tried to force a marriage, and I did the same fool thing with my son! I won’t risk my grandson when she’s likelier to skewer us all on her staff for suggesting it!” When Robb asked, in a hurt voice, why Lady Amarantha didn’t like him, Jon had snorted, and disreguarded Lady Catelyn’s glare to say

“Antha is not a Lady. She is a Stormhearted Polecat of Stonehome, and to her, you treating her like a southron flower is the greatest insult.” Rickard sighed

“Just let go of the idea of marrying a Stormheart, Robb. They have reason to hold a grudge, and it’s my fault.” Jon laughed at his father.

“The entire bloody war was your fault!” Rickard leapt out of his chair to chase Jon.

Sad and puzzled, Robb let go of his glass castle. He tried to get Jon to tell him what his grandfather meant, but Jon would only shrug and say “He’s the only one who can tell the tale, I can only tell it if he gives me leave or he dies.”


	3. Polecats, Direwolves and the Sword of the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the end, just the beginning. The foundation, if you will.

**Rhaena and Dayan, At Stonehome**

“Lord Rickard sent them to Essos, father.” Her single statement makes Dayan’s blood boil. She stands resolute in the face of her father’s anger.

“The first chance we have, we bring them here. All of them. I got Rickard to agree to us fostering the child for half a year every year, after his first nameday. With Lyanna here, he can properly know his mother, and eventually the history. Amarantha needs to see the children, especially her namesake, and young Valyria.”

Rhaena knows better than to interrupt her father, so she waited until he was done. Stormhearts did not use marriages to get allies. They preferred other shackles, like fostering.

“Valyria could foster with the Mormonts for a year or two, and Amarantha could foster at Winterfell.”  The suggestions appeased Dayan. Yes, his granddaughters could foster at a later age. His grandsons would be a problem, but he supposed

“Dayan and Darrod could foster with the Greatrivers.”

His daughter sighed. “Guessing and assigning futures is dangerous. Mara has Brandon, and Lyanna has Arthur. We will foster Jon Stark Targaryen, and Winterfell may yet be graced with my dear niece. We have done our duty, for now.” Dayan nodded.

“Rest, daughter, this will not be easy.” With a neat curtsey, Rhaena exited her father’s chambers.

**Mara and Brand Wildwolf with Lya and Artur Morn, on the way to the Free Cities.**

Mara had always loved a good bout, and watching her husband face off against his goodbrother was invigorating, She had carved wooden staves for herself and Lyanna, as she had sent Rhaena home with her own Staff of Valyria, hoping against hope it would be borne forth again by one of her nieces.

“Mara, come on! You can see Pentos from here!” Sighing contentedly, she raced to her husband, who was grinning from ear to ear.

'The Gods can throw anything at us, and I could take it, so long as I had Brandon.' She thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies for the short chapter. This is the beginning of the HTH series, His/Hers to Honour. For now, you’ve been introduced to the Stormhearts, and how you can have R + L = J and Lyanna/Arthur on the same fic.


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